


Of Court and Assignments

by Drake



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 20:30:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19483432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drake/pseuds/Drake
Summary: The Plague is spreading, and Jessamine has no solution. Until a quiet moment with Corvo leads her to what she must do.





	Of Court and Assignments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artabria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artabria/gifts).



The gray sunlight filtered through dark clouds has long faded in the Empress’ court, leaving only the low candlelight to illuminate Her Majesty. She sits on her throne, but continues to take subject after subject coming to her to beg for aid. The Plague is spreading, far faster than any quarantine can keep up, and it is the least Empress Kaldwin can do to listen to her people’s struggles. Even if she can’t offer any aid. 

Corvo watches her from the shadows. Watches how she hides the weariness in her shoulders, how she sits straight and alert despite the fact that she’s been seeing her people for hours. When the first sets of candles burn down, he decides enough is enough, and he steps silently forward and leans over her shoulder. 

“Your Majesty,” he murmurs, by her ear. 

She sits a little more upright, and perhaps he just likes her reaction to his voice, low and close. 

“Yes, Lord Protector?” she asks, turning her head just slightly, as the last noble leaves. The other Protectors have been careful to make sure all who entered had no sign of Plague, but one could never be too cautious. 

“Perhaps,” he says softly, his voice all suggestion, “you should retire for the evening? You haven’t had supper yet,” he adds. 

She sighs softly, imperceptibly. “My people need me,” she says in answer, a quiet murmur.

“Your Eminence, your people need you hale and hearty. If you work yourself too hard you may end up catching this godsforsaken Plague.” He speaks out of turn. He knows this. He also knows he’s the only one in the castle who can, besides Lady Emily. 

The perks of the Empress loving him, he supposes. 

“One more, and then I will have my dinner.” she concedes. 

He nods, and steps back into the shadows. Knows better than to push the boundaries any further. He knows his place. And he has already achieved a victory. If he can get her to bed before too far past midnight, he will be content.

Jessamine sees one more haggard noble, to whom she can promise nothing more than that she is doing everything in her power to protect his people from the Plague. As the man gathers himself and leaves, Corvo steps forward and nods to the Protectors by the door, signalling for them to bar and lock it. Enough for today. His own men are exhausted, though they would never show it. He needs to get them to their meals, too. 

He steps away from the throne as Jessamine gathers herself to stand, heading for the first Protector along the wall. “See yourself to the mess hall. I’ll accompany her Majesty. Good work today,” he adds. 

The Protector nods, and she takes a small half-bow as she turns to go spread the order among the other Protectors. Corvo turns and resumes his place by Jessamine’s side. 

“Emily did not wait for me for supper, did she?” the Empress asks as the step into the hallway toward her dining room, 

“No, she retired to bed a couple of hours ago,” Corvo answers softly, keeping stride half a step behind her. 

“Good. I would like to have my meal brought up to my chambers.” She glances at him askance. “And yours.”

His head lifts at that, gaze meeting hers. “As you say, your Majesty.” 

Her eyes flash at him, some silent amusement at his insistence on using titles when it is just the two of them. It doesn’t matter how many years have passed, he is rigid in his professionalism. 

He pauses when he sees a passing servant, asks them to send her meal up, and his to his own quarters. Which happens to be by hers, but if anyone has any inkling of their relationship, they know better than to comment. 

Jessamine opens the door to her chambers, and Corvo follows close behind. Shuts the heavy oak door behind himself, latching it closed, and then steps into her, hands reaching for her hips and leaning in to kiss her slow. 

She raises her chin to meet him, the movement elegant and sure, and her soft lips against his are a balm. His hand glides up from her hip, along her coat, up her shoulder and pausing to cup her cheek. Carries on further upwards, reaching for the pin in her hair. He slips it out, and her ebony hair tumbles over her shoulders in a sweet-smelling cascade.

A knock at the door breaks them apart, and he steps back, setting the pin on a side table and turns to open the door. A servant is there with the Empress’ meal, and he takes it with a nod. “Thank you,” he says quietly, taking it. “You may send mine to my room.” He can always eat it cold.

The servant nods, taking the other tray and moving on. He closes the door again, and brings Jessamine’s meal to her desk.

“Will you be joining me, Corvo?” she asks, unlatching her coat down the front, one clasp by one. 

“If that is what my Empress desires,” he says, smiling crooked, that lilt in his voice that he knows she so loves. 

“It is,” she says, a small smile blooming. 

“A moment,” he says, and turns to go to his quarters through the door in her chambers. It made little sense to have a Lord Protector if he could not come on a moment’s notice? Especially since he has had to do that very thing once, the night the previous Lord Protector was murdered in a ploy to get to the Empress. 

When he returns with his meal, Jessamine is dressed down in more comfortable clothes. Despite this, she looks weary. The weight of the Plague lies squarely on her shoulders, and he cannot help take it.

As he sits, she takes a sip of her wine, and seems to brace herself. 

“Corvo, I fear we do not have the means to contain and ease the Plague within the Empire,” she says, her voice even and measured in a way it never is with him.

“Jessamine,” he says slowly. “Our best physicians are working to find a cure.”

“It won’t be fast enough,” she says, with a certainty that he feels is perhaps uncomfortably correct. “I think we need to ask for aid.”

“From who?” He wonders who she will send. Who she can send.

“The other Isles. Corvo, will you go? I do not know who else I can trust with this task.” 

“My lady-”

“Please.”

“Jessamine,” he corrects, a weight to his own shoulders. “If you ask it of me, I will go.” 

“I do not wish to send you away. But my people need help that I cannot give him. Perhaps the other Isles know of a cure, or will send medicine upon your return.” 

He knows she speaks reason. So he does not fight it. “When would you have me depart?” 

“Tomorrow. Let us at least have this night,” she answers. It would make little sense to send him off in the dark, exhausted and alone. She would have him in her arms, instead. “Return as fast as you can, Corvo,” she adds.

“I will. I do not like the thought of leaving you while Dunwall is in such straits.” Who knew what enterprising upstart might think to usurp the Empress while the city is in peril? And he trusts the other Protectors, but he also could only ever blame himself if he was away and something happened to her.

“I know. I would not if I thought there was any other choice.”

He stands, his meal mostly finished, and steps past her to latch and close the door to her room. “Then,” he says slowly, framing it as a request in the way he knows she loves, his voice pitching low, “may I spend tonight with you in my arms?” 

“You may,” she says, dabbing at her lips with a napkin. Stands, tucking the tray further onto the desk and turning to him. She steps close, her small, delicate hands reaching for his coat, slipping it off his shoulders. Those hands he so loves, that hold all the power over him. He lets her undress him, until he is left only in an undershirt and loose pants. And then she sets her hand over his heart, and guides him backwards to her bed. 

He walks easily, trusting her guide. Feels his legs hit the edge of the bed, and lets her push him down onto it. Holds his arms open for her, and she perches on the end, looking down at him. Seeming to drink in the sight of him. He reaches for her hand, clasping gently. And tugs her down onto his chest.

She makes a soft sound as he pulls her down, as he wraps his arms around her. He buries his face in her hair, breathing in deep. “I love you, Jessamine,” he murmurs. “I’ll return as swiftly as I can. 

“See that you do,” she answers quietly, and presses her lips to his collarbone. A soft, gentle touch. 

He doesn’t want this moment to end. Wants to sit and remember this forever. But her warmth against his chest coupled with the long hours he spent on watch leaves him exhausted. He falls asleep quickly and easily, arms wrapped snug around her, knowing he will return. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> wew its been a long time since i've written dishonored, haha! I didn't mean for it to end up angsty but....I suppose that's the nature of these two if it's not a fix-it shfhsfdfh. I hope you enjoyed , Artabria! <3


End file.
